


Confined To Bedrest

by icewhisper



Series: Holiday Cheer & Tears [6]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, But not that bad this time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 16:55:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16876653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icewhisper/pseuds/icewhisper
Summary: The thing was, Len was the worst patient Mick had ever had to deal with. He argued that he was fine even while he was bleeding and refused painkillers, because he was scared of the loss of control. He’d sooner bleed out than admit he was hurt. Hell, Mick had once had to dig a bullet out of his leg while Len insisted he was fine and that he could walk it off.Like. A. Fucking. Maniac.





	Confined To Bedrest

The thing was, Len was the worst patient Mick had ever had to deal with. He argued that he was fine even while he was bleeding and refused painkillers, because he was scared of the loss of control. He’d sooner bleed out than admit he was hurt. Hell, Mick had once had to dig a bullet out of his leg while Len insisted he was fine and that he could walk it off.

Like. A. Fucking. Maniac.

Mick loved him – and, fuck, Mick wondered why and how every damn day – but Mick was also pretty sure he’d rather bathe a pissed off cat than deal with an injured Len. It wasn’t even that seeing Len hurt never stopped scaring Mick – okay, it was partially that – but the fucking _headache_ that came with it.

What was worse, though, was when Len had to play nurse.

Leonard Snart was a mess of a human being. He survived on puns more than he survived on food and for all the effort he’d put into trying to raise Lisa, she was just as big a mess as he was. Len on his own was a Len on the track towards bad decisions, especially when he was stressed out. A Len dealing with an injured Lisa was a nervous, self-loathing mess.

A Len dealing with an injured _Mick_ was enough to make Mick reconsider his chances with the cops.

“Snart, I swear to fucking God, if you fluff my pillow one more time-”

“They do it in the movies.”

“Characters are magically healed by the next scene in the movies,” Mick snapped irritably.

“I can make soup?”

God. God, no. Len forgot to heat it the last time. “No. If I get hungry, we can order something.”

“The cops have eyes out for us.”

“So fucking send one of the others.” That wasn’t why they kept the Rogues around, but they all knew better than to say no. Mick was mad enough that he was laid up in bed for the foreseeable future and no one wanted to risk Mick turning Len on them the next time someone got hurt. Axel was already on his shit list. “Fuck. Get Shawna-”

“Why? What hurts?”                                                                                                                        

“Nothing. She’s the _med student_.”

“She’s in Gotham, remember? Ivy’s giving her some lessons. It was your idea.”

It was a good idea with the worst goddamn timing. Mick groaned. “Just _stop_ , okay? I’m fine.”

“You’re shot-”

“-Len-”

“-and your leg’s broken-”

“-Len-”

“-and your arm’s broken too-”

“-Leonard-”

“-and you have a concussion-”

“- _Leonard_!”

Len recoiled, an old reaction to his full name being snapped like that, and Mick hated himself more than a little for being the one to cause it. Jesus. He _knew_ Len didn’t know how to take care of people. Len aggravated people, because people didn’t understand his thought processes and that non-functioning assholes didn’t raise functioning people.

Mick let out a breath, slow and deliberate, and told himself to calm the fuck down. “Len, I’m fine. We’ve both seen worse injuries.”

“Not on _you_.”

“No,” Mick agreed. “I usually have to deal with you being the one getting hurt.” Not as much since Len had gotten out from under Lewis’ thumb and even less since Len had killed the bastard, but the point still stood. Plus, Len had _blown himself up_ and been dead for two years. As far as Mick was concerned, Len still held top place on the Worst Injuries List.

(Len insisted it didn’t count since the timestream spit him out with only some bumps and bruises to show for it. Mick threatened to divorce him.)

Len’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he reminded Mick.

“I know,” Mick said, because _clearly_ was probably a ruder response than he really needed. “Just…sit, alright? I’ll tell you if I need something.”

Len opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but he sat down on the edge of the bed. “Sorry.”

“You stuck around. That’s good enough,” he said and forced himself to not tense. True or not, Len had a history of running when Mick got hurt. Shreveport had been the worst example of it.

Somehow – Mick suspected it was exhaustion, because he hadn’t seen Len sleep in three days – Len didn’t take it as a starting point for a fight. He simply nodded in response and rubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t like seeing you hurt,” he mumbled without looking at him, but he was talking about his feelings. Dr. Lu would be proud if Len mentioned it at his next therapy session.

(Mick valued his life, though, so he didn’t say it out loud.)

“Don’t like seeing you hurt either, boss,” Mick shot back tiredly and reached out with his good hand. “Okay?” Len took his hand instead of vocalizing that it was and Mick gave it a squeeze. “Already on the mend. And you’ve got Team Flash covering up what happened. Still don’t get how you managed that.”

“He owed me,” Len explained with a weak smile. “Helped save his girlfriend. There was a shark.”

Mick raised an eyebrow. “You gonna explain the rest of that?”

“Nope.”

“Because you’re being a little shit or because I’ll get pissed?”

Len gave him a little grin.

Mick rolled his eyes. Both, then. “Yeah. Thought so. You gonna get closer?”

“In a minute.”

He did move closer, inching over like a nervous cat and trying to twist himself so that he didn’t get too close to Mick’s casts.

“You look like a noodle.”

“I was going for crazy straw,” Len said as he settled back against the headboard and glanced towards the door. “You sure you don’t want anything? I think we have more soup-”

“No.”

“But-”

“Len. No soup. I never want to see soup again.”

Len sighed. “That’s what sick people are _supposed_ to eat.”

“I’m not sick,” Mick pointed out. “I’m injured. Injured people get ice cream.”

Len nodded and got off the bed faster than Mick thought he could move when he hadn’t slept for days. “I’ll go steal you some ice cream.”

“I don’t-” But Len was already out the door of their cramped room. “If you’re holding up an ice cream place, it had better be for something with brownie chunks!”

Len didn’t reply.

Mick was pretty sure he’d be coming back with every flavor of ice cream.

He reached for his phone.

_Come back ASAP. I can’t handle Dr. Snart._

Shawna sent back four lines worth of laughing emojis.

Mick groaned.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> You can all thank nirejseki/robininthelabyrinth for this one. I'd been planning to hold this one for later in the month, but she's been yelling at me for too much hurt and not enough comfort.


End file.
